“You’re not getting any younger you know, Nick.”  My know-all older sister’s weekly ‘sermon’ about my health and mobility was bang on cue. “Can you still make it to the corner shop?”

“Only on my electric mobility aid.”

“So how d’you go on for groceries?”

“I either get them delivered or Pi brings them in on Tuesdays.”

“Who or what is Pi?”

“My Thai carer.”

“Male or female?”

“Female. And quite a looker.”

“I see. And how old – or young – is this woman, may I ask?”

“Nineteen. Very petite. Always turns up on a yellow bike, wearing alarmingly short cotton shorts and a Lycra tank top.”

“And is she good?”

“Worth every penny the local council gives me; brilliant in all departments.”

Gemma emptied her coffee mug, placed it on the kitchen table and with a raised eyebrow asked: “All departments?”

I gave a nonchalant shrug. “No nookie, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“Why ever not? Both your wives were younger than you. And has she got a nice figure?”

“Like I said – she’s petite. Tiny legs, tiny feet and no titties.”

“How’d you know? Have you undressed her?”

“Only in my mind. I tell you, she’s absolutely flat-chested.”

“How do you know she’s nineteen”

“I’ve seen her passport.”

“D’you think she’d be up for it?”

“You mean being fucked by a guy who’s four times her age?”

“Sure. If there was some extra ‘pin money' in it for her.”

Thoughts of forceable deportation and lurid newspaper headlines flashed through my mind. “That’s awful thin ice, Gemma.”

“Live dangerously, sweetie. You’ve said yourself she’s not underage: having a nice big member like yours sliding into her pert little quim might be just the thrill she’s missing.”

I’d forgotten how often my sister had eyed my manhood when we were youngsters. “Well, there is one area in which we might be able to get together discreetly, so to speak.

“What’s that?”

“I’m finding it increasingly difficult showering these days. I had a nasty slip the other day; nearly cracked my head on the faucet.” Gemma strolled across to the kitchen noticeboard and removed a card. Turning it over, she was confronted by a small photo of my Thai carer. “Isn’t she cute? Let me have a word with her, will you? Obviously you’ll have to offer to pay her extra.”

“Naturally.”

*

My sister clearly had a persuasive manner as that evening she called to say Pi had agreed. “She said she’ll bring a costume.”

“What sort of costume?”

“A swimming costume, stupid!”

“Do I have to wear one too?”

“Entirely up to you.”

*

Tuesday seemed to take an age to arrive, but on the dot of ten she sauntered up the front path, pushing her bike. She gave me a lovely smile as she saw me looking through the window and when I opened the front door she was holding a lemon yellow one-piece costume in one hand and a large bag of groceries in the other. “Fancy a stir-fry for lunch?”

“Yes please.”

“I’ll do the veg prep first and then we’ll both take a shower.” I was on the point of bringing up the subject of ‘bathroom dress code’ when – as if reading my mind – she said with a smile: “Just wear a towelling robe.”

An hour later, everything was set – including a scented Thai joss stick. Pi strolled in wearing her costume, with a small orange flower in her hair. She stepped into the shower enclosure, turned on the water, checked its temperature and then beckoned me to join her. I let my robe drop to the floor and stepped inside.

“Back first. Then your legs, inside and out.” Her tiny well-soaped hands were soon stroking the inside of my thighs, moving upwards in unison. Then they tenderly clasped my ball sack. She gave a mischievous smile. “How many days has it been, sweetie?

“You mean since…”

“Since you had a lovely climax?”

“Must be over a fortnight.”

She shook her head in mock-admonition. “Not good!”

“No?”

“Doctors say regular masturbation for older men reduces risk of prostrate cancer. Would you like me to do it for you?”

“I’d love it, Pi. But can I make one request?”

“Sure. You’re paying.”

“Will you slip out of your costume so you’re naked too?”

“Sure.” In seconds the one-piece was around her ankles, revealing her boyish slimness and a total absence of any breasts; just miniscule dark brown nipples. She ran a finger tantalisingly between her thighs, to reveal the most delicate of slits. She took my hand and placed it on her soft downy bush. “Finger-fuck me first, Daddy. Then I’ll give you a lovely slow masturbation and you can cum across my quim.  After that, we have lunch!”  

ENDS